


Counter Culture

by hatandgoggles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (probably), Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Punk, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 01:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatandgoggles/pseuds/hatandgoggles
Summary: When Lance started his new job in Shiro's Record Shop, he couldn't be more thrilled. However, his good mood is absolutely decimated when it turns out he has to work with Shiro's friend, and punk band frontman, Keith.Written for Timeless Voltron zine, a history themed fan-zine!





	Counter Culture

_ June, 1985 _

This was his first day of work, Lance smiled to himself as he proudly straightened out the t-shirt he was wearing, showing off the shop’s logo. He had only graduated high school a month ago and he’d already managed to get himself a job, at a record store, no less! Lance loved music, and loved talking about music to other people just as much. It always put him in a great mood.

His boss, Shiro, was in the storage room upstairs, sorting the new arrivals by genre and ordering them alphabetically. Leaving him all alone behind the counter, to keep an eye on the shop in case anyone came in. The man had told him he didn’t expect anyone to, as it was still early in the day, but lo and behold, the bell rang as someone entered the store.

Lance whipped around with his brightest smile and a well-practised “Welcome to Shiro’s Records & Cassettes, how can I help you?”, though his smile quickly fell when he came face-to-face with what could only be described as a punk. 

He had long, unkempt and  _ greasy  _ black hair, wore a sleeveless denim jacket, embellished with spikes and patches with words and profanities Lance was sure were supposed to be the names of bands, and tartan pants that nearly fell apart at the knees and were neatly tucked into a pair of beat up combat boots.

Punk rock, and punks, by extension, was the only kind of music nowadays that could put Lance in a bad mood. All that angry, aggressive screaming. Violence for the sake of violence. And yet, people still seemed to like it, even after a decade of it being around.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” The punk snapped at him, clearly having a mood as well.

“Sorry man, but punk is dead. We don’t carry your kind of music here.” Lance lied. 

Whatever happened, he wanted this man out of the shop  _ right now _ . Lance was raised a good, catholic boy. There was no way in Heck he would take money from a punk, if said punk wasn’t planning to take money from him instead.

“Uh, yeah you do.” He said, pointing at a Runaways poster hanging behind the counter. Shoot.

“What are you doing here at 9 in the morning? I thought you people didn’t get up until 5, if at all.”

“Because I work here, asshole!” He shouted, pointing at the logo on his shirt. The same as his, visibly worn and much older than Lance’s own.

“Keith, is that you down there?” Shiro called as he rushed down the stairs behind the counter. “Keith, buddy, this is Lance. He’s going to be working here starting today.” He said, still catching his breath.

“Not for long.” Keith scoffed. “He was trying to kick me out before I told him I work here.”

“What can I say, I just really don’t like having hooligans like you around.”

“‘Hooligans’?! Not even!”

“Even!”

“Guys!”

Their gazes snapped up at the older man between them.

Shiro took a deep breath. “Lance, I’m going to need you to not provoke Keith any more. If you don’t have anything nice to say, you’re not going to say anything at all. And Keith, I know you want to be your authentic self, and I’m completely okay with that, but please try to be patient, okay?”

“Okay…” They mumbled in unison.

“Good.” Shiro nodded. “Now, Keith, I need you to put the new arrivals on the racks. I already have them sorted in boxes upstairs. Lance, you’re going outside to clean the window. I don’t wanna hear any more fighting today.”

* * *

Finally, closing time rolled around. Lance let out a sigh of relief as he picked up his bag and prepared to leave, until Shiro called him over.

“Lance, can I talk to you for a second?”

Oh no… Lance hung his head low as he approached Shiro. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did this morning. I promise, it won’t happen again, just don’t fire me, please…”

“Seriously? You should be apologizing to Keith.” Shiro said firmly.

Lance flinched. Deep down, he knew his boss was right, but that didn’t mean he suddenly looked forward to it.

“So, tell me, why do you hate punks so much?”

“I don’t know... They’re just rude and loud and they have no regard for personal hygiene. There’s no artistry to their music, no poetry in their lyrics, just shock value. They’re just angry for the sake of being angry when there’s nothing to be angry about!” Lance slowly dared to look at Shiro’s face again, but his expression was unreadable, only unsettling Lance further. “Did I say anything wrong?”

Shiro only sighed in exasperation, raking a hand through his black fringe. “Okay, let me tell you about Keith…”

Lance rolled his eyes.

“Keith isn’t good with people he doesn’t know. I think you realize that after today… But I hired you to work here because Keith is just as passionate about music,  _ all music _ , as you. He’s even the singer of his own band. I was so sure you guys would hit it off and become friends, but I guess that was a little too much wishful thinking on my part.”

“But if Keith is really that passionate about all music, why on Earth would he settle for screaming and distorted guitars?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“To blow off steam, Lance. He feels like the world failed him, and honestly, I don’t blame him… He never got the help he needed in life and he still isn’t getting it. He’s queer, and recently some of his friends have started falling ‘ill’.” Shiro airquoted. “I’m trying to make this as not depressing as I can, but just take it from me that it’s not mindless anger. You can’t start a fire without a spark, and Keith is a raging inferno.”

“And here I thought he was just being an edgy jerk…” Lance groaned as he buried his face in his hands. He shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, and now it came back to bite him in the bum.

“Nope, you were being the jerk all along.” Shiro tried to joke, but swallowed his words when Lance looked up at him, looking like a kicked puppy. “Just apologize to him and give him an actual chance tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

“Who on Earth does this guy think he is?!” Keith shouted as he kicked an empty beer crate across the hallway of The Blade’s den; a glorified shack out in the suburbs that his bandmates rented as a hangout and ‘studio’.

A deep sigh came from a man seated on the ratty couch. Kolivan. Keith might be the frontman of the band, but behind the scenes, it was really Kolivan who took care of everything as one of the oldest people in the local punk scene. Over the years, he had become somewhat of a father to Keith, and Keith appreciated that. Just having someone to talk to. “Okay, I’ll bite. What happened?”

Keith huffed as he threw himself onto the seat next to Kolivan. “I told you Shiro was going to hire someone new to help out at the record store, right?”

“And you don’t like your new coworker?”

“That’s  _ generous _ .” Keith huffed. “Shiro hired this awkward normie that somehow likes all music, except for punk, because ‘the anger and negativity puts him in a bad mood’.” He airquoted, mocking Lance’s tone. “Has he ever considered what mood we have to be in to do what we do?!”

“Keith…” Kolivan sighed. “He probably has no idea what you’ve been through-- what all of us have been through.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Shiro is probably spilling the beans as we speak.” Keith mumbled, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I can already see that pitying look on his baby face.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. He might actually understand.” Kolivan said quietly, rubbing a firm, reassuring hand between the younger man’s shoulder blades.

“No, he won’t!” Keith erupted. “There are things that people like  _ him  _ will never understand! He won’t know what it’s like to constantly be alone… To be abandoned by his father, his mother, the government, his friends and lovers.” His breath got caught in his throat as tears welled up in his eyes.

“Ah… So this is still about Regris?” Kolivan asked, watching quietly as the boy burst into tears. “Here, c’mon.” He whispered as he pulled Keith into his lap, hugging him tightly. “Losing Regris has been hard on all of us, I can’t imagine what it must have done to you.”

“It’s not just Regris.” Keith sobbed. “It’s Ulaz, it’s Antok, it’s  _ everyone _ . And nobody’s helping. Nobody seems to give a shit about us. Not the president, not the FDA, not anyone. It’s like we’re all alone in this.”

“That may be, but  _ you’re  _ not all alone in this. That’s what counts.” Kolivan whispered, wiping Keith’s tears away on the cuffs of his sleeves. “We might be all alone in this, but we still have each other. Be that the gays, the punks, the gay punks. We’re in this together. As long as we keep supporting each other, we might still get the help we need.”

“Right…” Keith mumbled. “Like we’re alone together.”

“Exactly. We’re alone together.”

* * *

When Keith came in the next morning, he didn’t even look at Lance. Lance hadn’t expected it to hurt with the way they treated one another the previous day, but it did. His voice shook when he finally dared to speak up. “Keith?”

“Don’t even try it dweeb. I don’t know what sob story Shiro told you, it’s probably true, but I’m not interested in your pity.” Keith snapped.

“I-I just… I wanted to know… What got you into music?” Lance asked nervously, his heart pounding in his throat.

“You wanna know what got  _ me  _ into  _ music _ ?” Keith asked, squinting in disbelief as he looked up at the other.

“Uh, yeah…” He stammered. “Shiro told me you love music as much as I do, so I was just wondering what got you into it.” He looked away from Keith as he scratched his neck. Sure, it wasn’t the apology he promised Shiro, but they were talking, and that had to count for something dammit.

Keith looked down, seemingly deep in thought. “My mom.” He mumbled, a loving, nostalgic smile forming on his face. “She played me every record she could get her hands on, and what she couldn’t play for me, she sang. She had the voice of an angel. Ever since she, you know… I’ve been tearing through album after album, searching for that same feeling of love and security her voice gave me, but I haven’t found it yet. What about you?”

Lance couldn’t answer that question with the lump in his throat forming as quickly as it did. His eyes watered, his lip quivered, and a sob was brutally pulled from his mouth.

“Are you  _ crying _ ?” Keith asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Dude, that was beautiful!” Lance cried.

Keith snorted. “You’re totally crying!”

“Don’t laugh, man! That touched my heart!”

Keith rubbed a tear Lance hoped was from laughter from his eyes. “Seriously, though, what got you to be so passionate about all music? You know, except for punk rock.”

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“Cross my heart.” Keith promised, a confident grin on his face.

“I’ve always been in the church choir with my siblings. We’re from, like, a devout catholic family, so we still sing in church every Sunday. So, I don’t know, I guess music and singing and family and happiness all became so tightly wound together... It just all makes me so happy.” Lance chuckled as he spoke. “And, I guess the anger in your music just clashes with that. It challenges what I’ve always been comfortable with.” He shrugged.

"That's kind of the point of punk rock, but that story is actually really cute." Keith smiled. "It must be nice, having such a good relationship with your family." He said nonchalantly, swiftly and single handedly breaking Lance's heart.

"You know, I propose an experiment." Shiro spoke from where he stood in the doorway. How long had he been listening?! "Keith, you guys have a battle of the bands this Friday night, right?"

"Uh, duh? I only told you three times."

"And Lance, you sing the Sunday morning services."

Lance nodded. He had a broad idea of where this was going, but he wasn’t sure whether to feel dread or excitement.

"Good! Then you're both going to each other's performances. Find some common ground. Just as musicians." Shiro suggested. "Trust me, neither of you will regret it."

"Yeah, I guess that could be fun." Keith nodded in agreement.

"I only have one question." Lance said shyly as he raided his hand.

"Ask away."

"What time are you guys on, because I have to be home by 10."

* * *

Lance would not be home by 10. He knew that much as he entered the condemned warehouse where Keith and his band, The Blades, would compete against four other bands. Now, Lance had always thought of himself as a confident guy, he couldn't help but feel severely underdressed in the leather-clad crowd, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans.

"I can't believe you're actually here!" Keith managed to shout over the loud crowd, effectively startling Lance, who had no idea he was standing right next to him. "Guess what! I managed to pull some strings and were up first, so your mom can rest assured that her delicate baby boy will be home by midnight, max!"

Lance couldn't help but smile. That was actually really considerate of him. "Thanks, dude!"

Keith quickly pulled off his sleeveless jacket and stuffed it into Lance's arms. "Now put this on! I don't know if you watch a lot of TV, but you stick out like one of those 21 Jump Street guys, and they don't particularly like cops here!"

Lance nodded and hurriedly put on the jacket. It was a little on the small side for him, but everything was better than getting beat up by a crowd of punks for being suspected of being a cop in disguise.

"Anyway, I gotta go, we're on. Oh, and don't accept drinks from anyone who isn't me, okay?"

"Okay."

Keith hopped onto the stage with relative ease and claimed the mic in one swift movement, screaming. “Alright, assholes! This one goes out to each and everyone who has been screwed over by the rest of the world!”

Lance flinched as the crowd around him roared, cheering, and waiting for them to begin.

But then the guitars started, and Lance was almost physically blown away.

_ “I am the antichrist, I am an anarchist!” _

The lyrics, at first, didn’t appeal too much to him, but when they moved past the initial shock, and Lance stopped listening to the words and listened to the feelings bursting from Keith’s voice, not just anger, but sadness, disappointment, and the fear of being abandoned, something clicked in his head.

He got it.

This wasn’t mindless anger. This was protest. This was fighting for what you believe is right.

Soon, Lance found himself stomping, moving, screaming and cheering along with the crowd.

He got it. And he sure as Hell wasn’t going to be home by 10.

* * *

Keith had never felt more out of place in his life. His hair was gelled into a neat part, and wore a neatly ironed, black dress shirt under his freshly laundered denim jacket. He even made an effort to wear jeans without any holes in them. It was… weird, to say the least. Was this the same Lance had felt last Friday night? 

He awkwardly greeted the family that sat down on the bench with him, his voice still raw from the other night, and smiled to himself as their youngest son stared at him in awe. Despite everything, he must still have looked like a mess.

Suddenly, everyone in the church stood up as the pastor stepped out on the altar, followed by the choir, and Keith hurriedly got up as well. He smiled when he spotted Lance wearing his choir robe. He looked so at home in that silly thing, he made it work.

“Welcome, everyone.” The pastor spoke, gesturing for everyone to sit down.

Keith snapped out of his daze, sitting down half a second after everybody else. More people started at him this time, he could die of embarrassment. It’s just been a very long time since he last visited a church, okay?!

“It’s nice to see so many familiar faces.” The pastor spoke up again when the mumbling of the crowd had died down. “And a new one. Please open your books on pages 31 and 32. Lance will open today’s service with Ave Maria. Lance?”

Lance nodded and walked to the microphone, front and center of the altar, in long, confident strides. Clearly, he’d done this hundreds of times before. He smiled as he looked at Keith, opening his mouth.

_ “Ave Maria…” _

Lance’s voice hit Keith’s chest like a speeding locomotive, hurting as it grew tighter, his heart racing. Slowly, the ache around his heart turned to warmth. The love practically radiated from Lance as he sang. His smile seemed to fall, and an ever so subtle frown crept onto his face. He looked worried. What was he worried about? 

It was only then that Keith noticed his eyes were watering, a single tear rolling down his cheek, and Keith realized that this was exactly the feeling he had missed all those years since his mother died. He took a deep breath and rubbed the tears from his eyes, smiling at Lance, telling him not to worry.

He’d found it, the love and security he hadn’t known for years. And maybe, just maybe, he had found a friend for life, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me on [Tumblr](http://iris-writes-things.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HatAndGoggles)!


End file.
